


Sore Hearted Souls

by nerdrumple



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Holiday festivities, Meet in jail, Rumbelle Secret Santa 2016, holiday smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2018-09-10 17:22:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8925781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdrumple/pseuds/nerdrumple
Summary: Lacey’s slowly derailing, and Gold’s buried his loneliness in meaningless tasks. But it all changes when they meet for the first time - in jail, of course.





	1. October

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ifishouldvanish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifishouldvanish/gifts).



> Merry Rumbelle Secret Santa, [ifishouldvanish](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ifishouldvanish)!

**October**

_ 7:06 AM _

She was being nudged from behind and her right breast was being fumbled with awkwardly. She groaned and grabbed a pillow, squashing it over her face.

“You should have left already,” she mumbled.

“You like that, girl?”

“ _ Girl?”  _ Lacey said incredulously.

The man behind her kept trying to pry her thighs apart, or place one of her legs over his, or something, she wasn’t sure. She was hung over and blinking the sun out of her eyes while searching for her alarm clock. She only found her cat instead, giving her a look that echoed the way she felt. She pet its head affectionately, and offered the best apology smile she could. It was her day off, and she didn’t want to start it with last night’s mistake.

“You like that?” he said again, and she threw her pillow off, effectively hitting the man in the face, and tossing his leg off at the same time.

“Time to get up,” she called out, trying to sound cheery but her voice was too scratchy. “Time to get up, time to shower . . . time for you to be off.”

“Huh?” he rounded her before she could get up, crawling on top of her and, yet again, trying to part her thighs. He nudged her again and she rolled her eyes.

“You should have left already,” she repeated, though he didn’t seem to hear her. He started to pump his hips though he wasn’t even in her, effectively humping her inner thigh instead, chaffing uncomfortably. 

“You’re, you’re on my hair,” she muttered, in the direction of his hand that was pinning her hair on the mattress and keeping her from raising her head.

“Eh, sorry,” he said, moving his hand and giving her the momentum to push him away and raise up onto her elbows. Her cat leapt onto the bed, startling the man out of his advances.

“You should have  _ left _ , already,” she repeated a third time, and this time he seemed to hear her. She rose, unsteady on her feet, but able enough to start rummaging on the floor for clothes that weren’t hers. She bundled them up and tossed them to the man, who caught them awkwardly.

“Hey, what’s the matter? Didn’t we have fun last night, girl?” he said.

“ _ Girl _ ?” she repeated with a scoff. “It’s Lacey.”

“Lucy,” he said, with a smile meant to be suave.

“Sure, I kind of like that better.” She left the room, naked, unbothered, cat following her and headed for the bathroom. She needed a shower.

“I’m sure you know the way out,” she called back. Her cat meowed, as if to agree.

“Do you . . . do you want to get breakfast at Granny’s?” he said.

“Nope,” she said, drowning out whatever else he had to say with a turn of the shower faucet.  
  


 

 _8:58 AM_  

Gold unlocked his shop, having arrived later than he usually liked. He normally gave himself a half hour or so to take care of small errands around the back room or check on the day’s deliveries and shipments, but his head felt heavy from last night’s scotch. 

Rather than indulging in his usual long shower and breakfast routine, he’d found himself spending half the morning in bed doing nothing more than staring at the ceiling, rubbing the cold sheets beside him with an absent-minded arm. And the night before, rather than indulging in his ledgers and successfully accomplished schemes, he found himself staring at the bottom of his tumbler over and over, wondering how it kept emptying itself.

Just as he’d flipped his ‘closed’ sign to ‘open,’ a man stumbled into the shop, tugging awkwardly at his leather jacket while trying to fish something out of his pocket.

“How much for this?” the man asked, no preamble as he held out a dainty gold necklace with a clasped pendant.

Gold sighed, knowing right away that the pendant was of some value, but not nearly enough to tempt him. He said as much to the man, who growled to himself while rubbing his considerably long stubble.

“Take it anyway. Doesn’t mean anything to me, anyway,” the man said, turning to leave the shop just as quickly as he’d arrived. He placed the necklace on the counter with a whack, not even bothering to check that he’d aimed his mark true, and the necklace slide off to the floor as the door banged closed with the man’s farewell.

Gold sighed, again, this time letting the air huff out with some satisfaction for his growing irritation. He strode over to the necklace, picking it up with more care than it deserved, and opened the pendant to reveal the face of a woman he’d never seen before. He closed it, and carried it over to his safe in the back. It wasn’t worth enough to interest him, but the small mystery it now carried convinced him to lock it away for safekeeping.  
  


 

 _5:10 PM_  

It was her favorite holiday, and she didn’t have any adequate costume to show for it.

She’d effectively spent her day sleeping in after her morning shower (and after her unwelcome morning guest had thankfully pissed off) only to shower again once she’d woken up to bizarrely half dried and half damp hair. She’d cuddled with her laptop and binged some Netflix and Hulu respectively, and avoided Ruby and Mulan’s calls, also respectively. By the time she was ready to crawl out of bed and prepare for tonight’s festivities, she’d remembered that she’d never actually bothered to place that order in her Amazon cart and be the triumphant Xena warrior princess she’d dreamed about dressing up as all month. 

Her cat, having slept happily on her tummy this whole time, argued when she rose. 

“Looks like last year’s costume will have to do,” she sighed to her cat, who didn’t seem to care one way or the other.  Ruby, however, with her accommodating Gabrielle, would be sorely disappointed. 

_ 7:23 PM _

God, he’d meant to close up the shop two hours ago.

He’d gotten so wrapped up in repairing the old grandfather clock he’d recently acquired that he’d lost track of the time. It was probably for the best, as he wasn’t interested in getting home and telling costumed children to bugger off,  _ I don’t have any candy, go bother someone else, thank you _ . Did no one respect a snuffed out porch light anymore?

While the young residents of Storybrooke had tricks and treats to enjoy, he merely had a night with the bottom of his tumbler to look forward to. Again. He grumbled to himself, switched his ‘open’ sign to ‘closed,’ and headed for the back room to gather his coat.

He surveyed the small but busy work area, trinkets placed carefully for the several tasks he was working on. But it was the safe that held his eye. He opened it and pulled out the necklace, its simple pendant having occupied his mind whenever he had an empty moment in the day. He didn’t know the woman pictured inside, he knew this logically, but she felt familiar anyway. He’d already examined the pendant under his loupe, and found no inscription or other identifier to signify its owner. Placing it back inside the safe, he tried to put it from his mind, again, and distract himself with the grandfather clock, again. He could possibly finish the thing tonight, if he wanted. It’d be a late night, but his tumbler could wait up for him.

  
  


_ 9:35 PM _

Ruby eyed Lacey with ill-masked disdain. “Surprise, surprise, you’re a cat. Every year, you’re a cat.”

“Why give up a good classic? I see you went with Gabrielle, anyway . . .” Lacey said, slowing as Mulan sauntered up and wrapped an arm around Ruby’s waist. She wore a stunning breastplate, armoured skirt, and an impressive sword at her hip. 

“I thought  _ I _ was going to be your Xena!” Lacey complained. 

“Number one, you’re not even dressed the part, and number two, in what world would you be my Xena, when I have a perfectly good warrior princess right here?” Ruby placed an arm around Mulan, who smirked triumphantly. “Besides, you never return my calls anymore.”

“Nor mine,” said Mulan.

“Wait, when did you two become an item?” Lacey asked.

“Return. Our. Calls,” Ruby deadpanned. 

Lacey said nothing, only offered a sheepish smile, looking all the more sad when paired with the silly Halloween-themed martini in her hand. 

The Rabbit Hole was filled with goblins and ghouls, ghosts and goonies. The place wasn’t terribly different from any other night, except  _ Monster Mash _ was playing and glittery cardboard pumpkins hung from poorly distributed spider webs. Ursula’s Marie Antoinette bouffant had already collided with one. Lacey was having a hard time focusing on the festivities and found herself scoping out who she could take home with her that evening. When had Lacey’s favorite holiday become such a letdown?

“I need a drink,” Lacey moaned.

“You have a drink,” Ruby pointed out. 

“Pumpkin spice does not a suitable martini make,” Lacey said. “Coffee yes, alcohol no.”

“You just need to pair it with the right thing,” Mulan said.

“Mmm, yes. I’ll go relay that to Keith immediately. Vodka, perhaps.”

“Or maybe skip the pumpkin spice altogether,” Ruby smirked.

“I like your thinking,” Lacey said. 

She turned, and was nearly tripped up by the leash she was carrying. Or, more accurately, what was on the end of it.

“You . . . you brought your cat?” said Mulan.

“ _ Again? _ ” said Ruby.

“It’s even got the cape again!” said Mulan.

Lacey smiled while lifting her cat up into her arms, an awkward endeavor with a martini glass and tiny Batman cape. “Why give up a good classic?” she repeated.

 

 

 _4:24 AM_  

He’d slept at the shop. He hadn’t meant to, and the crick in his neck and back would be punishment enough to remind him for the next few days. He groaned, slammed his fist on the worktable, and grabbed his coat and keys so he could head home to his blessed scotch. The grandfather clock wasn’t even done. 

Making his way home, the sun nowhere near rising, it was easy to pretend the black night was merely midnight and he had a reasonable sleep in his bed ahead of him. Did he want to sleep again, he wondered? The thought was abandoned as he pulled up to his home, seeing that a front window was open, curtains swaying slightly. 

He pulled his gun from the glove compartment and entered the house with care. The lamp by the open window was toppled over, along with the small table it’d been seated on. The lamp was on and flickering, and before he could investigate further, a black shadow darted across the room.

“Bloody hell!” he called out, nearly jumping out of his skin but thankfully not firing his gun, as the blasted creature turned out to be a cat. A cat that, if he wasn’t mistaken, wore a tiny Batman cape. It froze in the corner of the room, facing him with yellow eyes, and he jumped again as his cell rang.

“Gold,” he answered tartly, nerves still having the better of him. 

On the other end was Deputy Swan, with an explanation that would seem to answer his open window situation.

“I need you to come down to the station. You’ve got a, uh, cat burglar.”

“I’m looking right at it, Swan.”

“Huh?” she said.

“The cat,” he said.

“No, I’m looking right at it.”

“What? Are you here?”

“No, I’m  _ here _ .”

“Here?”

“The station. With the cat,” she said, tired.

“The station. With the cat,” he said, annoyed.

She didn’t say anything.

“Then what the bloody hell am I looking at?”

“Gold, I don’t know. Just get down to the station.”

He hung up, confused, angry, and tired, and eyed the slick black creature in front of him. It had already decided Gold wasn’t a threat and was busy curling around his legs. 

“Don’t piss on my rug while I’m gone,” he said.

  
  


_ 4:55 AM _

He studied the girl in the cell before him, but could only see her parts separately. A black leotard that didn’t hug her breasts so much as try to topple them out of the top. Fishnet stockings that crisscrossed her long legs. Black heels, one clearly broken, that lay forgotten in the corner. Smeared whiskers drawn with eyeliner that blended with faded red lipstick. A crooked cat ear headband. A crushed fuzzy kitten tail.

All the pieces put together added up to be his cat burglar. She was very beautiful, very dirty, and very drunk. How, when, and most importantly,  _ why _ , she managed to stumble into his house, he was about to find out.

Lacey, in her turn, peered through the bars to see a man in a three-piece suit hovering before her. He had a drawn face, taut skin over the sharp angles provided by his cheekbones and nose, and a cane that his thumb was tapping absent-mindedly. It was in contrast to the soft hair falling near his shoulders, and despite his sour demeanor, she smiled. He was handsome, and she’d regretted leaving the Rabbit Hole without a suitable warm body for the night. 

“Are you . . . my lawyer?” she said with a lilting accent. He couldn’t place it right away as it’d blended so much with American and whatever had her slurring that his tired ears couldn’t work it out. He ran a hand over his face.

“Do I look like your lawyer?”

“Yes. You do,” she smiled again, waving a hand at his suit. 

“Not your lawyer.”

“Some kind of clerk, then?”

“No.”

She stopped guessing, and moved from the bars to sit away from him. He was certain he’d never seen her before, and wondered if she was from out of town. He decided to humor her a bit.

“What, my dear, are you in for?”

She paused in the middle of trying to lie down and sat up to face him again. She reached up to remove her headband. “I’m not your  _ dear _ , and I’m in for breaking and entering, though I have a perfectly reasonable explanation.”

“I’m sure you do.”

“My cat decided to wander through the doggie door of that obnoxious pink house on Birch street. Rumor has it Mr. Gold lives there, and rumor  _ definitely _ has it that he’s the last person in town you want to rile up. I just wanted to get my cat and get out of there.”

Either she got mouthy when drunk, or this was a part of her personality he’d simply have to learn to appreciate for the moment. “So you broke in? It didn’t occur to you to knock on the door?”

“Of course it did, but no one was home,” she said.

“So you took the next logical step: break in.”

“I wasn’t about to let Marble Lady wreak havoc while I waited outside for a person who’d likely blame  _ me _ for my cat’s poor decision making.” 

“. . . Marble Lady?”

“Who has a doggie door on a Victorian mansion, anyway? Very undignified.”

“While choosing to break in was the pinnacle of dignity. Did you break anything?”

“Didn’t get a chance to. Our lovely new deputy, Emma, completely unappreciative of my avoid-Mr. Gold-conundrum, caught my silly arse trying to wriggle in through a window.”

“And what about the cat?”

“Well, Marble Lady’s still there while I’m stuck in here, now, yeah?”

Emma Swan sidled up next to Gold, having stood to the side for this conversation. “Her story checks out. Pretty sure she didn’t steal anything.”

“Of course she didn’t,” Gold snapped. “Where in God’s name would she put it?”

Lacey offered him a salute and a smile for his reasoning, readjusting her too-tight leotard over her breasts as if to help prove his point.

Gold watched the act with amusement, his mouth slightly agape, then turned to Emma. “Did you even bother to see if the cat that she described was there?”

“Well, I didn’t search the place up and down, if that’s what you’re asking. Did you find one?”

“ _ Yes. _ ”

“Then her story checks out.”

Gold rubbed his face again, sighing.

“Could still be burglary,” Emma said. “She didn’t actually have to take anything to be charged. Just needed the intent.”

Gold turned back to Lacey, and spoke in a sing-songy voice. “Did you have intent to commit a crime?”

“I had intent to  _ retrieve my cat.” _

“Perhaps you let your cat in as an alibi. Wouldn’t be difficult,” Gold said.

“What part of my ‘avoid pissing off Mr. Gold conundrum’ threw you? If I was trying to steal something, he’d be the  _ last  _ person I’d consider stealing from.”

“Why not? He’s the richest man in Storybrooke.”

“And the assholeyest! Are you not familiar with this man?”

“Apparently you’re not.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You want to press charges?” Emma interrupted. “Doesn’t matter if she took anything, she was still trespassing.”

“Why are you so pushy?” Gold asked.

“Paperwork to fill out,” Emma commented dryly.

“There’s nothing to charge me with,” Lacey said, “it wasn’t burglary, as there was no intent to commit a crime, nor theft, as I didn’t take anything.”

“You’re very logical for a drunk person,” said Emma.

“I’m drunk enough to have landed here,” Lacey said, waving a hand around.

“You committed  _ trespass _ , which doesn’t require intent to commit a crime for me to charge you,” said Gold. 

“Well, as the subject was inebriated, and only half of the subject even managed to get its way into the home,” Lacey said, motioning to her upper half, “I’d suggest not pressing charges. Wait, why would  _ you _ press charges?”

Gold smiled.

“Oh, God.”

“May He save your sorry soul,” said Emma. 

_ “You’re  _ Mr. Gold?”

“Aye.”

“You’re Scottish!”

“. . . aye.”

“Well, Ruby’s Scrooge McDuck references make sense now.”

He only scowled at that. “And who are you?”

“This is Moe French’s daughter,” Emma said. “I’m new in town, and even I know that.”

“Moe’s daughter . . .” Gold said, tired head catching up with him. “Ah, yes. Australian. I know you. You’re  _ Racy Lacey _ .”

There was a flash of hurt in her eyes, something small but distinguishable, quickly hid by a smirk. “Well. Sounds like a carnival ride when you say it like that.”

“That’s your reputation, is it not?”

“Better than yours, at least. Town miser and tyrant.”

“Town tart,” he bit back.

“Would you two knock it off?” Emma interrupted angrily. “Gold, are you pressing charges?”

He considered Lacey before him, her chin jutting out in defiance. God, this raging creature was lovely. He was angry, he was tired, and everything about this girl was spelling trouble, and a whole lot of hassle. This dalliance needed to end.

“No. I’m going home. Now. So I can kick some unwanted vermin out of my house.”

Lacey’s eyes blazed. “Don’t you lay a finger on Marble Lady!”

“The cat is, technically, her property,” Emma said.

“In  _ my home! _ ” Gold sputtered.

“Am I free to go, Deputy?” Lacey asked. “I believe my night in jail is complete, this one’s not pressing charges, and I could go remove my Marble Lady from his ostentatious home--”

“Big word for a drunk girl--”

“--as was my intent all along.”

Emma’s lips tightened. “Sure. You’re free to go.”

Lacey smiled something toothy and silly as she was released. Gathering her headband and heels, she strode up to Gold, whose posture tightened upon her approach. He narrowed his eyes.

“Can I, eh, get a lift?” Lacey grinned. Gold sighed and pinched his nose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for inaccuracies in the jail scene, I’m a bit of an idiot.


	2. November

**November**

 

_6:42 AM_

The ride to his home was bizarre. He crouched over the steering wheel as a woman, dressed provocatively in a cat costume with his jacket draped over her shoulders, hummed merrily to the Christmas music she’d fiddled on from the dashboard.

“ _In the meadow we can build a snowman,_ ” she hummed.

“This is certainly being played terribly early,” he grumbled. “And aren’t you hungover? Why the cheeriness?”

“Gotta work through it somehow,” she said. He shook his head at her, but said nothing.

She continued to hum to herself, mouthing lyrics occasionally, and he let her without complaint. When he pulled into his drive he didn’t bother making it out to the detached garage, just stopping in front of his house.

“Out. Get your cat.”

She held up her hands in a defensive motion. “Mind unlocking your front door first? I’d rather not try climbing through your window again.” He didn’t respond, just exited the car while she followed.

She looked wrung out. Such a small thing she was, tiny under his jacket and only just reaching his eyes when in her heels. She wore them to hobble into his home despite the spike of the right heel being broken; she didn't want to pad her bare feet across the frigid morning ground. They were hobbling together, he realized; him with his cane, her with her heel.

“This house is huge! Do you live here alone?”

He didn’t dignify that with a proper response, only grunted in her direction. It wasn’t normal for the silver-tongued man, but he was tired, and felt about as wrung out as she looked, though she was acting far more chipper.

He’d closed the window before leaving for the station hours before, so unless the cat had left via the doggie door again, it was undoubtedly still in the house, likely getting fur everywhere.  He sighed and looked at the cat in front of him, swaying her hips while she removed his jacket, crushed tail bobbing alluringly. She handed it to him with a sultry smile. What a morning it had been.

She continued to hum the Christmas song, tentatively making her way into the parlour, glancing under the couch and armchair, wincing appropriately at the table she’d toppled over which was now righted.

“Please make this quick,” he said, standing vigil to her movements lest she get any ideas.

“Cats aren’t dogs, you know. Don’t simply come when you call. Why do you even have a doggie door, anyway?”

“Why’d you name your cat ‘Marble Lady?’”

“Hmm,” she sniffed, not answering. “To each their own mystery.”

She continued her tune again, this time headed for his stairs.

“You aren’t going to bother with the rest of this floor?” he asked, following.

“She likes beds. I assume your bedrooms are upstairs.”

“Or you’re up to something.”

“Ha, please. I want to get back home just as badly as you want me out of here.”

He followed her up, briefly mesmerized by that swaying tail again, and shook his head.

“‘Marble Lady’ suggests calico, but she’s black,” he said.

Lacey turned to face him. “You saw her?”

“When I came home last night.” He shook his head again. “I mean this morning. She had a, a cape on.”

“Halloween,” Lacey smiled. “We’re Batman and Catwoman every year.”

“Charming,” he muttered.

Lacey resumed her song once more, and it irritated him as he couldn’t tell if it was her way of pretending he wasn’t there so she could snoop or she simply wanted to annoy him.

“You mind just . . . keeping that down and looking for your cat?”

“This _is_ how I’m looking for my cat. You have to sing to her. She comes when you sing.”

“I am not _singing_ to her.”

“No worries, I got it from here.”

She sauntered into the first bedroom she saw, a guest bedroom thankfully, but turned to leave after only a quick peek. She continued to each room in this manner, keeping up her song, keeping up those swaying hips.

When she approached his bedroom, he thought about sprinting ahead to stop her, not wanting her to poke in there at all, cat or no. But he wasn’t capable of sprinting, and her alighted tone suggested Marble Lady had been discovered.

“Well, aren’t you cozy?” she said.

There she was, Marble Lady, curled up in the middle of Gold’s bedspread. Batman cape and all.

“Terrific,” Gold muttered. Fur was likely all over his bed, and he’d have to have it laundered immediately. “Now, kindly retrieve, and leave.”

“Hold on, I can’t just go in and grab her.”

“Why not?”

“It’s like I said, you have to sing to her. Observe.”

She stopped her hum and sung lyrics now, in a surprisingly pleasant voice, beautiful and clear. He stopped looking at the cat, and just stared at her. He was suddenly embarrassed to find himself entranced, this smeared faced, poorly dressed, lovely woman having stoked his blood.

Sure enough, Marble Lady rose up tentatively to Lacey’s voice, then bounded towards her with a spritely step. Lacey smiled broadly and scooped up the cat into her arms, nuzzling her face into its fur and continuing her Christmas carol between delighted murmurs.

“ _Phantastes,_ ” Gold suddenly blurted.

“What?” she said, interrupted of her reverie.

“You named her after the Marble Lady in George MacDonald’s _Phantastes_. Because you have to sing to her to get her to come.”

It was Lacey’s turn to stare at him. “You’ve read it? Wouldn’t take you for the type.”

He scoffed. “Certainly wouldn’t take you for the type.”

“To read?” she arched an eyebrow.

“To read fantasy. Why aren’t I the type?”

“Ruby made it sound like the only hobby you enjoy is counting.”

“My mountains of coin?”

She laughed, and the sound softened him enough to kill whatever further retort had been on his tongue.

They walked back down the stairs together, and faced each other awkwardly at the door. Lacey continued to nuzzle Marble Lady, though her singing had stopped. She turned to face Gold before leaving.

“Look. I’m, I’m sorry. Trying to crawl in through your window was a bad idea, I thought I could be quick about it, but I was drunk and . . . I’m sorry.”

He nodded, ready for her to go.

“And, eh, sorry I said you were an asshole. Was just going by hearsay. You’re actually not that bad.”

He eyed her with suspicion. “Are you being sarcastic?”

“I’m not. For once.”

He eyed her harder.

“No, really. You didn’t press charges, you lent me your jacket . . . thanks. Just . . . thanks.”

“The only thanks I require is a promise not to break into my home again.”

“I’ll do my best,” she smiled.

“And . . . don’t tell anyone about this. Don’t want others to think I’ll go soft if they try breaking in as well.”

She laughed through her nose and nodded. She stepped out into the morning, grey and cold, sun finally having broken the sky, and her breath came out in a cloud.

“Do you . . . do you need a ride home?” he asked, surprising her.

“No, thanks, I’m actually parked up the street . . . where Marble Lady decided to leap out of the window. I, eh, chased her down. Broke my heel.”

“Ah, yes. I was wondering just how that’d happened.”

“Well, mystery solved. Goodnight Mr. Gold. Er, good morning. Or, well, you know what I mean. Good bye.”

“Good bye, Lacey.”

Gold closed the door and stared at it. He waited several moments to be sure she was gone before he banged his head on it and moaned.

Lacey, throwing her shoes into the backseat of her car after delicately placing Marble Lady inside, shivered as she waited for the engine to warm up, banged her head against the steering wheel and moaned.

 

_1 Week Later. 5:27 PM_

He had just gotten home when a black shadow darted across his foyer.

“ _No,_ ” he moaned to himself.

It was quickly followed by incessant knocking on the door.

“Lacey,” he said as he greeted her upon the doorstep.

“I’m sorry, I am, Mr. Gold. Believe me, I thought she had learned her lesson.”

“You’re paying for the dry cleaning this time if she makes it to my bed.”

“Will do, will do.”

Lacey hummed her magic Christmas tune, and this time Marble Lady paused at the top of the stair to face them, only to turn around in defiance and dart to the obvious path of his bedroom.

“God damn it!” Lacey called, quickly resuming her song again and patiently heading up the stairs.

He only had a moment to register her appearance, quite put together from the last time he saw her, even if it still bordered on the provocative. Skin tight jeans and a top that bared a peek of her taut belly, from what he could see inside her coat. Makeup kept within the regular lines of her face, hair swept into an updo.

Marble Lady, which they found perched once again on the center of his bed, did not receive the same appreciation.

“What in the devil is she wearing?” Gold asked.

“It’s cold out,” Lacey said.

“Yes, but . . . _what_ is she wearing?”

“Eh . . . I believe it’s a cat parka.”

“It’s . . . hideous.”

“It keeps her warm.”

She continued her song, Marble Lady returned to her arms, and they made their way down the stairs, Gold grumbling about dry cleaning though his thoughts were elsewhere.

Marble Lady, though she had come willingly, proved to be a bit of a nuisance in Lacey’s arms this time, and had swatted her paws at Lacey’s hair, prompting Lacey to let it down. As it tumbled to her shoulders, Gold gave her a funny look.

She smirked. “See something you like?”

He didn’t speak right away, just paused while staring at her. “No. No, just thought I saw . . . doesn’t matter.”

 

_2 Weeks Later. 5:20 PM_

She was sitting on his porch when he arrived home that afternoon.

“This is becoming a suspicious trend, Lacey.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, this is right when we go on her walk and she just . . . really likes your home, Mr. Gold.”

This woman was incredibly beautiful and incredibly annoying and it was getting harder and harder to affirm that he never wanted to see her again.

“Playing a long game, are you? Make me think your cat keeps wandering in here so you can get whatever it is you’re really after?”

“You’re very paranoid, Mr. Gold.”

“Just annoyed.”

“This is the last time.”

“‘Course it is. Go on,” he said, unlocking the door. “Go in. Go get her. Go steal whatever it is you keep returning for. You can damn well have it.”

 

_2 ½ Weeks Later. 5:30 PM._

“For fuck’s sake, Lacey!”

“I know! I know!”

“Get her a leash!”

“She _has_ a leash. She’s just very good at wiggling out of it.”

“Then attach it to whatever costume she’s wearing.”

“They’re not _costumes_ , they’re . . .  ‘parkas’ and she needs them to stay warm on her walk.”

“Marble Lady does not _need_ to go on a walk.”

“Um, _yes,_ yes she does.”

“Then go a different route!”

“And miss your beautiful angry face? Never.”

 

_3 Weeks Later. 7:18 PM_

She wasn’t sure she could eat another bite.

The diner was bustling yet intimate as the warmth of laughter and delicious aromas filled the air. The turkey had long been carved, and leftover stuffing, potatoes, and other dishes had already been put away. Granny and Ruby and were bringing out pies by the armful and filling coffee mugs while the patrons of Storybrooke enjoyed the feeling of friendship and camaraderie of their tiny town. Every year Granny hosted her own Thanksgiving, and while the main courses were pitched mostly to those without family to enjoy it with, the rest of Storybrooke always left their homes and gathered at the diner for dessert. A lovely town tradition, Lacey always thought.

Lacey was a part of it, she knew. And it was her favorite holiday, this American day of gorging. But as the evening progressed, she found herself drawn to the window and away from conversation, watching the snowflakes fall instead of engaging with the rest of the diner. Her own reflection stared back at her, growing more defined as the sun set and the night rose, until nothing but black stared back at her if she squinted past her own face. She was quiet and still in her booth, arms hugging herself as a heavy kind of empty began to fill her. When had her favorite holiday become such a letdown?

She perked up when she saw movement outside. The only prominent member of Storybrooke absent from the evening’s proceedings, as he was every holiday though he owned this very diner, was strolling down the street. His pace was meager and he caught her staring at him, a few feet away through the glass. She rose and made her way to the door, keeping her stride casual so as not to be noticed while passing her friends.

She opened the door, reaching up to quiet the bell, and peeked out to speak to him.

“Is there a reason you’re out in the cold, lingering like a gargoyle, while the rest of us are enjoying hot toddy?” she said with a red smile.

He broke his stride to face her, and tried not to scowl at her use of ‘gargoyle.’ “I seriously doubt there’s any hot toddy in there, but nice try.”

“There could be, if you would help me to convince Granny.”

“It’s only worth the effort with the right bourbon, and Granny doesn’t even have the wrong kind,” he nodded his head at her, turned away. “G‘night Miss French.”

“Miss French, is it?” she said. “I’ve cleaned your damn bedspread three times now, and you’ve seen the dismal remains of my painted-on whiskers when you came to visit my jail cell. I think we’re beyond ‘Miss’ at this point.”

“ _Lacey,_ ” he said pointedly. “Thank you, but not interested. Close that door before you freeze Granny’s patrons and they blame me.”

She smiled goofily, and he wondered if she was drunk. “Not interested in coming in to join us, or just unfamiliar with how this door and threshold works? I can keep holding the door open for you if you like, and you can enter easily by just lifting one foot carefully followed by the other, no minding the cane, it can do the same thing--”

He let out an exasperated sigh at her rambling. Drunk or just ridiculous, he couldn't honestly tell. “If y’havn’t got hot toddy, what do you got?”

Taken aback, she smiled. “Just coffee and pumpkin pie. You know, like the song. ‘ _There’s a happy feeling nothing in the world can buy, when they pass around the_ ’ . . . you know, coffee and pumpkin pie. You look like you need that feeling.”

He huffed, drawn inward again. “I don’t, thank you very much.”

“Well, what do you need? Because I can’t figure you out.”

“No figuring out necessary, dearie. Go back inside and enjoy your merry evening.”

“Gold,” she said, finally releasing the door and marching towards him. She had a finger up and was undoubtedly fed up and about to give him a piece of her mind, but then she drew herself short. “Wait, what’s your name?”

“Mr. Gold.”

“Your first name, dummy, as I so clearly laid out earlier that we’re beyond the ‘Miss’ and ‘Mr.’”

“You may be, but I’m not. My name is my own, you haven’t earned it yet.”

“And just what does a girl have to do to earn your name?”

“Constantly allowing your cat to enter my place definitely isn’t it.”

“Nor getting you to visit her jail cell at three am-”

“It was _five_ am _.”_

“-and for the _last time_ , Marble Lady wanders into your house, I do not _put her there_.”

“Says you,” he said, before suddenly surprising her with a kiss.

He didn’t reach out to hold her and she was too shocked to respond at first, her mouth still open to speak but suddenly pressed against Mr. Gold’s, which was trying to be sweet against her while she couldn’t even get her lips to move. When he pulled back he gave her an expression that was neither dark nor light, just trying to fish her reaction. When she didn’t pull away, he moved down and kissed her again.

Her brain was slow to catch up, but when it did, she registered that they were out in the bright of the street light, in front of Granny’s, and his kiss wasn’t as hard as she was used to. So when he pulled away again she grabbed him by the arm and drug him around the corner where she startled him by pressing him up against the brick wall. She eyed him for a moment before diving in again, kissing hard and sucking on his lower lip. The hesitancy of his surprise wore off fast, and he wrapped his arms around her, his cane cluttering to the ground.

She opened his wool coat and pulled herself inside, pressing herself flush to him. She moved her hands up to his neck and massaged his nape while her tongue pushed for purchase into his mouth. He allowed her in, and she noted that he moved in a way that suggested inexperience, though it was likely just shock. She smiled, and pressed her hips to his.

He rubbed his arms against her back, letting them shift in opposite directions so one could tangle in her hair while the other secured her lower back. She reached around for that hand, and drew it up her thigh under her skirt, trying to push it towards her groin. The way he jerked back told her she was moving too fast, but she couldn’t bring herself to slow down, and he had nowhere to hide with her in such close proximity.

“Lac-” he managed, before she pressed her mouth to his again. Her lips plucked his with a fervor, and she tried to calm her urgency by moving her tongue slowly, allowing him to ease into her need. She ran her nails down his neck, and he shivered, causing her to smile in triumph.

She allowed the kiss to carry on longer before attempting to move his hand a second time. She could already feel his hardness straining against her pubic bone, so rather than pushing his hand down her panties, she did the favor of rearranging him before trying to push her hand down into his trousers, an endeavor he stopped immediately by grabbing her wrist.

“This isn’t how you earn my name.”

“I don’t want your name, I want to fuck.”

He blinked at her, suddenly angry. “I’m not going to fuck you here in the alley!”

“Why not? You want to,” she said, cupping his erection again, and he jerked away, shoving off from the wall. She turned around and leaned back against it, folding her arms before reaching up and swiping at her mouth, pulling away to view the smeared lipstick on her fingertips. It echoed on his face. He made like he was going to walk away, only to come close again and whisper at her in an angry hiss.

“Of course I want to,” he said, touching her hair. “But not in the _fucking alley_. Not with Granny and Ruby and the Nolans and Leroy and _fucking_ _Sister Astrid_ all slurping pumpkin pie down their fucking throats not twenty feet away.”

“They don’t know, they don’t care,” said Lacey, nonchalantly.

“Well _I_ do. _You_ do. You deserve better than an alley, Lacey.”

“Oh,” Lacey laughed with a bite, “don’t tell me you’re a _gentleman_ , now.”

“Of course I’m not. But _we_ deserve better than an alley fuck, Lacey!”

“We. _We_. Okay. Then let’s go somewhere else. What is it you need to get off? Egyptian cotton? Candlelight? Salad for you, steak for me?”

“Mocking romance, are you?”

“Did you want to court me before you fingered me? You should know by now that you don’t have to work that hard. I’m ready when you are.”

“That’s not why I kissed you.”

“Then why did you?”

“Because I like you, you daft lass. But you’ve gone and made this something crass, something . . . something,” he waved his arm in the air, coming up with nothing, and she remembered his cane on the ground. She bent down to pick it up and offered it to him with an apologetic smirk. He smirked back, sarcastically, hardly grateful, and eyed her with that angry expression again.

“Come with me,” he said.

She blinked, but recovered fast. “Where we headed? Gondola ride in the moonlight?”

He gave her an exasperated expression. “Egyptian cotton,” he muttered, not looking at her.

“Ah, goodie, a fuck after all!”

“ _No_ , just . . . come with me.”

He turned back around towards the direction he’d come from, and Lacey realized they were headed to his shop. She’d never been inside, and felt a twinge of excitement at the prospect.

He lent her his wool coat, which she didn’t bother protesting as she didn’t want to face any questions if she ran back to the diner to get her own. Once to his shop, it was too dark to truly see anything, and she huddled deeper into his coat as she stared at the strange shapes that littered the place, and there were many, casting jagged shadows around her.

He didn’t turn the lights on, but headed straight for the back room with a clear indication for her to follow. Once there, he fiddled with a small safe in the corner, and pulled out a golden necklace with a tiny pendant that she recognized at once.

“How did you get this?” she demanded. “And you’re always accusing _me_ of theft!”

“I didn’t steal it. I’ve never been to your dismal apartment, you don’t pay rent to me. A young man brought it in.”

“A young . . .” her voice trailed as she thought, counting the latest notches in her bedpost.

“He stole my necklace! That bastard!”

“A recent boyfriend? I take it things didn't end well.”

“A one night stand . . . and no, things didn't end well. He overstayed his welcome.”

“Perhaps he wanted to be a future ex-boyfriend.”

She scoffed. “He didn't even know my name. Kept calling me ‘girl.’ Then Lucy.”

“Did you know his name?”

“Of course I did. Will Scarlett. Doesn't mean I wanted to walk down the aisle with him. Just wanted a good fuck, and then let it be over.”

“And is that what you want from me? What am I, the silly old man you harass with your cat that could give you a good fuck once you got the chance?”

“Hey, you’re the one who came on to me.”

“I wasn’t trying to get into your knickers!”

She bit back her angry retort, staring at him as she let her mind catch up with what he was saying. He relaxed too, and a heated silence passed between them before he reached over and opened the pendant. Lacey stared down at the photograph.

“My mother,” she said slowly.

“Aye, you look like her. She in Australia?”

“Yeah. Dead and buried. Before we came here.”

“That explains Moe’s lack of pleasantness.”

“And what about your lack of pleasantness? What shoved a stick up your arse?”

“An ex-wife that _isn’t_ dead and buried.”

“Hmm,” she hummed, closing the pendant. “You get much for this?”

“Nothing at all.”

She didn’t ask him why, just undid the clasp and motioned to put in on her neck. He reached up to sweep her hair to the side, and took hold of the necklace, clasping it for her.

“You’re not . . . _old,_ ” she mumbled.

“Wish the emphasis wasn’t necessary. But, yes, I am. Old enough to be your dad.”

“You like young things, then?”

“Ever seen me with one?”

“I’d never even _seen_ you ‘til you showed up at my jail cell.”

“But you’d heard of me.”

“Yes.”

“That I’m an arsehole. Not a lecher.”

“. . . right. Why not? You could easily be someone’s sugar daddy.”

He muffled a laugh at the term, then narrowed his eyes. “Is that what you think I’m doing? Ever bought you anything, have I?”

“ _No_ , obviously, you make me pay for each dry cleaning.”

He chuckled again, and she felt him playing with her hair. Such a small act, but it made her heart race.

“Then why’d you kiss me?” she asked.

“Because I like you. You. Daft. Lass.”

She turned around to face him, eyes angry and sad at the same time. “ _Why?”_

He smiled without humor. “I don’t know.”

He turned to sit in an armchair, and she realized his leg was hurting him. She watched as he set down his cane and rubbed at his knee, though it seemed the old injury he dealt with was in his ankle. She thought about asking him about it, but he spoke.

“Because you make me feel like I can. Like I ought to. You come to my house with your stupid cat and your stupid excuses. You sing.”

“My voice cast a spell on you, hmm?”

He smiled. “I suppose so. _The Siren Call of Racy Lacey_.”

Her smiled died. “You know, I hate that nickname.”

“For the rhyme, or the connotation?”

“Both. Some of the guys I’ve been with have been just as _racy_ as me, but they get no nickname.”

“Aye. Let’s give’m some.”

Lacey snorted. “ _Dirty Sheath Keith. Had-a-Million Killian.”_

“Had time to think about this, did you?’

She shrugged. “They’re stupid, anyway. They just sound congratulatory. Like a verbal high five. Mine sounds like a warning bell. ‘Lucy’ might be better after all, yeah?”

“No. No. I like Lacey.”

She walked over to him, and his smugness disappeared as she stood over him, looking down at him while his chin held level with her breasts.

“You like Lacey?” she asked, a firmness to her voice.

“Yes,” was all he could muster.

She carded her fingers through his hair, and he leaned into her touch, fantasies dancing in his head. She traced her nails along his scalp, and he let his eyes flutter closed. She knelt down and kissed his forehead, then maneuvered so she was sitting in his lap. It pulled him out of the reverie of her touch, and his eyes popped open just as she leaned in to kiss him again.

But she didn’t kiss him again. She nibbled on his jaw, and moved her hands over his chest, swiftly, undoing buttons before he could protest. She pushed a hand beneath the fabric, and he shivered as her skin was cold, and he tried to keep his hands secure at her waist. She raised her head and nuzzled his hair, and his mouth gaped as he realized at some point she had exposed her breasts, because his lips were brushing against them.

He tried to speak but only groaned instead, losing the fight to not at least nip at her skin. She tasted wonderful, and something was roaring inside of him, telling him to just take her, to just _fuck her_ like she wanted. But it had been a long time, and it was killing that spark of human connection that he’d finally stoked. If he fucked her now, would he be another boy overstaying his welcome if he wanted her more than a few hours? Would Marble Lady suddenly stop making an appearance?

“Lacey,” he said, pulling away.

She pulled her hand from his chest but let her other continue to tangle in his hair. There was frustration on her face, she knew he was trying to stop them again, and she wasn’t happy. She reached down for her own skirt and lifted it, sinking her hand into her panties and rubbing at her clit before dipping her fingers inside herself.

Her hips rocked with gentle motion as his eyes bugged out of his head. Her breasts heaved with her breath and he yanked her hand out from between her thighs. She gave him a daring look and used her wet fingers to caress his lips, and his eyes fluttered from her scent before shaking his head.

“Stop, please,” he said.

“Don’t want me?” she had the audacity to ask.

“Stop, _please,_ ” he repeated.

“Am I not your type?”

“ _Stop_ , Lacey.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, leering at him, almost cruelly. “Can’t get it up for me?”

He narrowed his eyes, offended by the cheap tactic and the erection he held clearly raging for her as she rubbed a leg against it.

“Why mock me? What’s wrong with you? Can you truly not go a night without a fuck?” he hissed.

She grew quiet, and finally turned away from him. She fumbled with her clothes, righting her top and readjusting her skirt. Her eyes appeared glassy through the moonlight, and he wondered again just how much she’d had to drink tonight. There was a tightness to her expression, like he’d finally said the thing that would wound her.

 _I just wanted to stop,_ his mind said, _I want to, but not yet,_ his mind said, _Not the alley, Lacey, not the chair,_ his mind said.

Her voice was clear when she spoke, and her eyes remained dry. “I feel separate from it sometimes. My pussy. Vagina. Genitalia--no word works. But it’s like it’s a part of me that has its own cravings, you see, and pursues them while I watch. If I could detach it I would, set it aside and let it feed itself all the lust it craves. My breasts, too. All my sex organs. Always burning, always needing tended to.”

He stared at her for a long time, and she didn’t look at him. It was something she’d never been able to explain to Ruby or Mulan. She wasn’t even sure if she’d adequately explained it to Gold.

He reached out a hand and gently squeezed her thigh, then turned and grasped her cheek with his other hand.

“You’ll fuck me now, eh?” she said, trying to hide that girl she’d just shown him.

“No,” he said, in a voice that had no right to break. “I’ll just kiss you, if that’s all right.”

He shifted so he was holding her face with both hands, making her look at him, and _God_ her eyes were so blue.

“I want you to feel this, just this, right now. Tonight. Nothing else. All right?”

She wanted to speak, but simply nodded instead.

He leaned forward, pushing his head up to meet hers, and he didn’t kiss her at first, just brushed his lips over hers, unpuckered, and she did the same, rubbing their lips back and forth. When he did start to kiss her, it was at the edge of her mouth, nose nuzzling her cheek, fingers tightening in her hair, and something burst behind her eyes. She let out a soft moan, something entirely different from the heat that had her panting when she was previously fingering herself.

When he finally captured her lips, it was that hard kiss she’d been craving earlier, deliberate and needful. His tongue ran the seam of her lips, then found a rhythm with her tongue, and his fingers seemed to unconsciously tighten and release in her hair in time with the movements of his mouth.

He continued like that, a push and pull of the lips and tongue, not so much resembling fucking as making love. Whenever she opened her eyes he was looking at her, which sent rushes through her chest. His stubble was nearly invisible but they’d kissed deeply enough to leave small grazes on her face. She smiled, her heart thumping like a dull rig and she wanted to grow rusty against him in the rain.

“I like you, too,” she breathed.

“Been waiting to hear that,” he smiled.


	3. December

**December**

 

_Five days till Christmas._

“You need to stop isolating yourself,” Ruby said, clearing the counter of Lacey’s breakfast plate and then plopping down to eat her own.

“Five minutes,” Granny warned her, “we’re busy today.”

Ruby nodded at her grandmother, and started scarfing down her pancakes, speaking to Lacey between bites.

“We need a girl’s night, a double date, a rom com sesh, _hell_ , even just texting. You know how you get when you isolate yourself.”

“I haven’t been _completely_ isolated,” Lacey protested.

Ruby swallowed another bite of pancake. “Drinking is fun, but not _all the time._ Sleeping around is fun, but not _all the time._ Moderation, friend. And a stranger in bed does not isolation cure. You know, for someone who's so sex positive, you seemed to have lost the positivity of it all.”

“It just hasn't been . . . fun, lately. Just feels like I do it ‘cause I always do it. I haven't had an orgasm in ages.”

“You're just burnt out. You'll get back on the horse.”

She wanted to tell Ruby that she could count on her fingers all the times she’d had an orgasm, at least with another person. That all the fucking was just a desperate search for _something_ she’s supposed to feel after all the building and building. And the closeness, stranger or not, was its own exhilaration.

“I heard you slept with Will,” Ruby said.

“Yeah,” Lacey said, trying to keep her face neutral.

“Meaningless sex is only fun if the _meaningless_ is consensual too. Otherwise, one of you is just being cruel.”

“I know,” Lacey said, conceding to her friend’s reprimand, “I know.”

“You’re just burnt out,” Ruby repeated, finally finishing her dish and rising. “Like I said, you’ll get back on the horse. Stop isolating yourself.”

“I haven’t been, Rubes. You see, I think I've found just the horse.”

Ruby paused. “Who's the horse?”

“I don't think he wants me telling people.”

“So . . . a fake horse you’re making up just now to appease me.”

Lacey bit her lip. “It's Mr. Gold.”

“ . . . and now you’re lying. Whoa, what a whopper.”

“Not lying. And it’s a long story. The tale of which he honestly did ask me not to tell people.”

Ruby sat back down again. “You’re serious?”

Lacey nodded.

“And you’re happy?”

“Yeah.”

“Well. We still need a girl’s night. Life cannot be lived through romantic relationships alone.”

Lacey nodded again.

“. . . and just so we’re clear, I still don’t believe you.”

“Ruby, why would I lie?”

“What’s his first name, then? Granny’s been dying to know.”

“Shit,” Lacey mumbled to herself.

Hours later, on her lunch break from the flower shop, she dropped into Mr. Gold’s shop.

He raised his eyebrows, surprised but happy to see her. “And what brings you to the shop today?”

“Thought I’d strike a deal with you.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Pardon?”

She unclasped the familiar dainty gold chain from around her neck. “Did you like this gold necklace?”

He didn’t answer, just stared at it in her outheld palm.

“Did you get nothing for it because it’s worth nothing?” she asked.

“No - just - not as much as people desperate for cash think it’s worth. Do you need money, Lacey?”

“No,” she said. “I need a name.”

He stared at her. “Mine.”

She nodded.

“And you want to trade your necklace for my name?”

“No, I’m going to keep the necklace,” she said, clasping it back on, smiling. “Just wanted to make a dramatic gesture.”

He laughed through his nose. “Brahm.”

“Brahm.”

He nodded.

“Good,” she said. “Now I know what to scream later.”

His eyebrows rose. “In anger, or pleasure?”

“Likely both, don’t you think?”

She texted Ruby on her way back to the flower shop, a bounce in her step.

 

_Four days till Christmas._

She crouched down, angling Marble Lady so she could enter easily. She felt a little guilt for what she was doing, deliberately letting Marble Lady in through his front door. But only a little.

He opened his door shortly thereafter.

“You can just knock, you know,” he said in a flat, irritated tone she knew was feigned. “Leave your feline at home, I don’t need her fur balling up the place.”

“I know you don’t really mind her coming in. If you did, you would have fixed that doggie door by now."

“True. You’ll notice I purchased a little cat bed for her, and I’ve started shutting my bedroom door.”

“I’d call you clever, but you waited so long to remedy anything that I’m tempted to call you a dummy instead.”

He mock scoffed at her, and they watched together as Marble Lady completely ignored the bed he’d purchased for her.

“Perhaps if you gave up your bedspread, made a little cat bed out of that, and just bought yourself some new bedding . . .” Lacey rambled.

“Perhaps,” Gold said. “May I kiss you?”

“Don’t ask, just do. And finger me please, I beg you, I need a good orgasm. Haven’t been able to get myself off lately. And I’m usually the only one I can rely on. Frustration over _you_ keeps popping into my head.”

Her bluntness had him raising his eyebrows but he took it in stride. “Mmm,” he hummed, “not yet.”

“What in God’s name are you waiting for?”

“Christmas,” he said plainly.

“What . . . why? Why?”

He smiled darkly. “I love unwrapping presents on Christmas morning, don’t you?”

“No, we were a Christmas Eve present-opening kind of family.”

“Christmas Eve, then,” he said, capturing her lips.

 

_Three days till Christmas._

He wasn’t sure what they were talking about, only that Lacey looked upset, Keith looked persistent, and the whole thing made his teeth want to tear through flesh. Keith wasn’t touching her, thank goodness, or Gold would have to touch him, with his cane, in the most violent of ways.

He approached, tapping his cane loudly on the sidewalk, letting it provide his introduction. “ _Dirty Sheath Keith_ ,” he said. “Get lost.”

Lacey’s eyes widened and she snorted.

“Gold,” Keith said, eyebrows raising in an attempt at scrambled recovery from whatever he was hassling Lacey about. “I--”

“Don’t care. Scram, please.”

Keith opened his mouth again and Gold raised his cane. Keith nodded, turned, and left.

“He’s going to think we have private business, you and I,” Lacey smiled.

“Don’t we?”

“Not the kind he’s thinking of, hopefully. I’d rather not get mixed up in financial ruin with you.”

“Nor I,” he said, leaning down for a kiss. Lacey nearly jumped in surprise. In broad daylight, this man! She’d assumed he’d want whatever they had going on to remain private.

Did she like this? Him, kissing her in public, staking a claim? She didn’t know, but at the moment it felt good. A rush of possession and greed flowed through her and she smiled.

 

_Two days till Christmas._

He was surprised to see her here, at Regina’s Christmas party. She wore an adorable turtleneck jumper, more covered up than he’d ever seen her, while the guests around her adorned black tie attire. She stood out like a sore thumb, albeit a very lovely one. She’d clearly been waiting for him, as she happily whipped out a sprig of mistletoe from behind her back and held it above her head.

“What’s this I see?” he asked. “A holiday tradition of locking lips under a clipped bit of shrubbery?”

“A parasitic, poisonous one at that,” she smiled.

“So - the kiss of death, technically?”

“Depends on what you want to kill.”

“How about boredom?”

He leaned down and kissed her, relishing the few gasps that erupted around them. So satisfactory. He was well on his way to earning the reputation of lecher; wait till they learned that he truly cared for her.

“Not to sound like the unaffected privileged talking down to the 99%, but what are you doing here? This is primarily a donor’s function, after all.”

“Providing the floral arrangements, of course. Papa considers this annual gig his Christmas bonus.”

A steady silence sat between them where they merely stared at each other pleasantly, circled by the other party guests, strings swelling holiday tunes in the background. Lacey lowered the mistletoe slowly.

“Didn’t know if you’d do it here,” she said.

“What?” he asked.

“Kiss me.”

He gave her a questioning look.

“You were fine to kiss me on the street after Keith left, but I’m not sure that it counted. You being comfortable with us being seen together. So I wanted to see if you’d kiss me here, in your element, with all these hoity toities watching.”

“That you think this is my element is insulting,” he said, grabbing her dramatically about the waist and pulling her flush to him. He pressed his mouth to her ear. “And no, I don’t mind us being seen together. You’re not a dirty secret, Lacey.”

She flushed, as this hadn’t been her experience with a few boyfriends in the past, and smiled into his shoulder before lifting her chin and smiling at the gawking Mayor in front of them.

 

_Christmas Eve._

He shouldn’t have considered it strange that she sacrificed her holidays with her father to be with him instead. She said she normally spent this evening at the Rabbit Hole anyway, or Granny’s, as she did Halloween and Thanksgiving. But this was special, she said - it was her favorite holiday.

They hadn’t talked about this thing they had, not really. But he was fine to let it progress at this pace, especially since he’d been the one to pull back Lacey’s reigns and try to wrangle a relationship out of it, if she was willing. Luckily for him, she was.

“That's enough for you,” he said, slipping her drink out of her hand and onto the small table in front of them, the very one she’d knocked over months ago while trying to break into his home.

“My tolerance is incredibly high, thank you,” she said, smiling anyway, playing with his pocket square.

“Yes, I've noticed. But I'd like you to be on the aware end of tipsy for this.”

“ _This_ ,” she whispered mischievously. “Our Christmas fuck, you mean?”

“Christmas _Eve_ ,” he emphasized.

He had invited her over to spend the night, after several failed attempts on her part to get him to spend the night at hers. True to his word, he wanted to _unwrap his present_ come Christmas time. It was silly, being thought of as a gift, but he treated her better than that. His actions, if he wasn’t careful, could almost be explained as cherishing her.

Would it happen? she wondered. It was difficult to achieve orgasm with another person for her, though she enjoyed sex all the same. But with Gold, this was entirely different. She liked the man, very much, and the _building_ she was used to experiencing through frantic thrusts had accumulated through verbal sparring with him instead. She liked to think he could have her coming just by whispering _cunt_ into her ear.

She stood in front of his window, and he came up behind her. She wore a blue velvet dress, a wrap around with a delicate bow at the left of her waist. The sleeves were long and the length actually a modest one, going just past her knees, but it was skin tight and dipped in an incredibly low v, revealing the valley and rise of her breasts. He reached up along the center of her and drew two fingers down her, starting at her collar bones and tracing down each swell.

“You’re very lovely, Lacey,” he whispered. “I’m going to touch you, tonight. And I’ll carve two paths. The first will be with my fingers. The second will be with my tongue.”

She hissed in a breath, and nodded dumbly. This wouldn’t be the quick fumble of a fuck she was used to. No wonder he wasn’t interested in the alley.

He undid the bow at her side, and let the hand that had run down her breasts part her dress, running a delicate touch along her stomach and hip bone. She was exposed beyond the window, and though there was no one to see her but the snow and glistening night, she shivered at her own reflection.

“I’m going to eat you,” he whispered in her ear, and she turned to face him, grabbing his shoulder and biting her nails into him. She kissed him, in the same way he’d kissed her that night in his shop, and smiled as this suave persona he’d adopted wavered with his heavy breaths.

“Come,” he said, trying to hide his panting. “I have a very large bed waiting for us, as your cat can attest.”

“Egyptian cotton?’ she smiled.

“You don’t think grand enough. _Silk_ , darling.”

He had gotten a new bedspread, as per her suggestion, and new sheets just for the occasion. He was slightly embarrassed at this fact as it likely revealed the importance he placed on the event, but she didn’t tease him, even as she noted the new deep blue color opposed to his previous burgundy.

“How do you want me?” she said, holding the open ends of her dress for him, displaying the lingerie she’d selected for the evening. It was transparent, flimsy material that hid nothing, and his mouth went dry at her pert nipples and taut belly leading down to a waxed sex.

“I went with maroon,” she said, “I wanted to match your bed. But you up and changed it,” she said.

“You’re perfect,” he swallowed, moving forward and sliding her dress down her shoulders until it pooled on the floor. “Lay down.”

She’d taken his licking comment half heartedly, thinking he’d only meant to tantalize, but was surprised when he sat down on the edge of the bed and actually made a study of her with his mouth and hands. She’d never thought much of arms or bellies when there were pussy and breasts to be had, but he made those areas all the more sore for pleasure by teasing and skimming her instead.

When he pulled away, he stared at her with awe before reaching up to finally remove his tie.

“Will you do a striptease? The undressing part’s usually pretty frenzied for me,” she said, trying to hold that usual dark humor in her lilt, but he could hear how affected she was by his exploration.

“If you like,” he said, wondering if she’d be at all impressed with his body. He was old, but he wasn’t sallow and his skin was still taut where it needed to be and his muscles still held good shape. She seemed to enjoy his unbuttoning, and there were so many buttons.

When he was removed of all fabrics, he stood before her unembarrassed, letting her see his jutting desire for her, letting her see his sparse hair, letting her see the _him_ underneath all the armor he normally wore.

She raised up onto her elbows, and stared at him, and he was flattered as he heard her shallow breath. Her own body had developed a lovely blush, and she held his eyes as she slowly parted her thighs for him, opening her legs to reveal her pussy lips, wet with arousal, flimsy fabric soaked through.

He knelt on the bed just as she was about to remove her panties, but he stopped her.

“Let me,” he said, sliding the material down her legs. He leaned down and kissed her before moving to her neck, then making a hurried path to her breasts. They were still covered by the thin bralette she wore, but he sucked gently on a nipple through the fabric, letting his mouth and tongue coat her. He moved from breast to breast, and her groin burned, and she moaned.

This was wonderful, it truly was, but she needed him to fuck her. She reached down past his body to rub at herself, quickly pushing her own fingers in then grinding against her palm. He pulled back and looked down at her rushed activity, and tutted his tongue.

“I said let me, Lacey,” he said, pulling her fingers from herself. “I need you to trust that I know how to get you off. Stop being impatient.”

Her head was spinning. She didn’t have the words to say that she _did_ trust him, she really did, she was just becoming so needy. The _building_ had become so large! She felt dizzy as he bent down and gently sucked her clit into his mouth, gentle, gentle, lapping small at her when her breathy pants requested it. Two fingers, longer than her own, began fucking her, and she started canting her hips unconsciously.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she started whimpering, and he chuckled against her, the rumble making her quake.

He stopped his sucking, it was too much anyway, and moved to lapping and rubbing at her. Ah, her stomach burned. She _needed_ to come, and she grabbed his head, digging her nails into his scalp, greedily feeding her hips into him.

He curled his fingers inside her, pumping still, and the stars were just there, _just there_ , but she couldn’t take herself out of her mind, and whimpered in a disappointed defeat. He pulled himself away from her, narrowing his eyebrows.  

He rose, and hovered before her. She could just feel the tip of his cock at her entrance. Finally!

“Impatient girl,” he muttered again. “So ready to come, are you?’

“Yes please please please fuck me,” she said, letting it all come out in a single frustrated breath.

He grabbed her face. “Look at me, darling, look at me.”

She did, and they blinked together, sharing breath and sweat.

“Does it feel separate, Lacey? Does your pussy feel separate from you?”

“No,” she managed.

“Good,” he said. “Because I’m about to fuck _you_ , Lacey. Not your pussy.”

He pushed inside her, slow, and she let out a low whine as he filled her.

“ _God_ ,” he cursed. “You feel _perfect_.”

He angled his hips until he found the stroke that would rub her clit on the way in, and she sobbed when he did. She rolled her hips against him, and the friction was amazing, he felt _yes,_ _perfect_. The burning was expanding from her stomach, down into her legs, and without warning her inner walls were fluttering and she was gasping. He groaned, his cock being squeezed by her lusciously, but paused his reverie as he saw how large her eyes had grown in her face.

“You look like you’ve never come before,” he strained.

She wriggled beneath him, losing her bones one by one until she couldn’t even support his weight with her hips anymore.

She collapsed to the bed and he stared at her in wonder. “I, I don’t!” she said. “I mean, I don’t often come, not with a cock in me. I usually have to get myself off with my hand.”

“That why you kept trying to finger yourself?”

She nodded, sweat lining her forehead.

“Darling,” he mumbled, kissing her forehead,”you don’t have to do all the work. Besides,” he said, surprising her by pulling out and flipping her over. “You’re going to come again.”

She thought he meant for her to raise up onto her knees, but his weight came down against her back, keeping her flush to the mattress. He opened her thighs again and she felt him pressing into her, entering an inch or two, and heard his satisfied moan as he prepared to fill her once more. He reached underneath her, between her body and the mattress, and opened her pussy lips, so her clit was exposed to the sheets.

“Pump, dear,” he said, fucking her again.

The rhythm was easy, like they were one body against the bed. The sheets kissed her clit over and over as he filled her over and over, even her breasts were kneaded by the bed. He snaked the fingers of both his hands through hers, and when her walls started to clench him again, he cursed heavily while spilling into her.

His weight was pleasant atop her, and she wanted him to stay, groaning when he pulled away, but his greedy arms pulled her right into him again.

“That was amazing,” she gasped, “oh my _God,_ that was amazing. God, I love coming.”

“Me too,” he said, rubbing a hand through her folds, relishing the feel of his come seeping out of her.

“You’re very good at that,” she sighed. “Hasn’t it been ages or something? You go to Boston for prostitutes to practice?”

He stared at her incredulously. “Always a tender moment with you, isn’t it? No, no prostitutes. Sex is like riding a bike. You don’t forget.”

“Well, you lasted a good long time.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

She only laughed, and curled deeper into his arms.

“We can fuck in alleys now, if you like,” he said, after a while. “Just wanted to get the first one taken care of, in a proper setting. Actually, nevermind,” he groaned. “My ankle will never allow for alley sex.”

“Are you all right?” she asked, looking down at his leg.

“Fine, fine,” he waved. “By the way, you didn’t scream my name.”

“Oh,” she said. “I forgot.”

“My name, or to scream?”

“To scream, _Brahm_. I’m more of the gaspy, wordless type.”

“S’alright. The night is still young. Santa won’t be here for a while.”

“He may not come at all. We’ve been _very_ naughty.”

 

_Christmas morning._

She was being nudged from behind and her right breast was being kneaded gently, the nipple being rolled delicately before his hand moved down to cup her groin.

“Good, darling?” he said.

“Good, _”_ she gasped quietly.

Gold gently pried her thighs apart, placing a leg over his.

“Good?” he said again, his cock teasing through her folds, slippery and smooth, he must have been teasing her gently for several minutes before she woke to his more direct ministrations.

“Yes, don’t stop,” she called out, trying to sound sultry but her voice was too scratchy. “Please, please,” she said.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he said, nudging her again until he was entering her smoothly, and her eyes rolled into the back of her head.

“ _Yes_ , don’t stop!” she repeated, and he heard her loud and clear. He started to pump his hips, filling her again and again, hitting the perfect spot, nearly toppling her over her peak, fucking her wonderfully.

“I’m, I’m gonna come,” she whimpered, in the direction of his hand that carded through her hair and kept her head back so he could hear every delicious sound she made.

“Yes,” he said, straining with the word, “come for me.”

He ran his hand down to her clit once more when her walls started to flutter, bursting her pleasure further and relishing her cries. When she came down, he rounded her and parted her thighs, pushing her into the mattress and lifting her legs back until he was able to sling one over his shoulder and enter her again.

“Ah! _Ah!”_

He fucked her harder now, hips meeting hers wildly and his eyes didn’t leave hers as he murmured “Lacey, _Lacey,_ ” over and over. This, _this_ , was the hard, rough fuck she’d been craving from him for so long. From this precious man, this _Phantastes_ reading, cat tolerating, cranky man. He was pounding into her, the bed moaning with his efforts.

“ _Brahm!_ ”

He groaned with her, head burrowing itself in her throat, hips twitching with his final moments. She smiled into his hair, and wrapped her arms around him as he collapsed onto her.

“I love coming,” she sighed.

“I love hearing you scream my name,” he said.

“Yes,” she said, “I remembered.”

He rolled off of her, and cuddled her up into him again as they panted in the fresh morning around them.

“Breakfast at Granny’s?” she managed after their post-coital haze started to dissipate.

“I think not,” he said. “Have you forgotten what day it is?”

“It’s Christmas!” she gasped happily. “You fucked me into forgetfulness!”

They made their way downstairs, she insisting on remaining naked while he wrapped himself in a robe, and Marble Lady chirped at them from her new cat bed made from the remains of Gold’s old bedspread.

There was a small mountain of presents under the tree, which Lacey had insisted on erecting herself when it was clear Gold wasn’t going to do so. She’d protested him getting her any gifts, and he’d done the same, but they were both fools tearing wrapping paper from boxes revealing trinkets, ties, clothing, and chocolates together by the fire.

“This,” Lacey mumbled around a mouthful of chocolate, “is my favorite holiday. Never a letdown.”

“Glad you’re spending it with me,” Gold replied as he fished under the tree for one last gift. “Merry Christmas, Lacey.”

The package was a small, forest green box adorned with a gold ribbon. He handed it to her with a funny, anticipatory look, and she narrowed her eyes playfully in return. She tugged the ribbon with care, wondering if perhaps a new golden pendant was inside. There was a twinge of gold, all right, but no pendant.

“A key,” she gasped.

“A _house_ key,” he clarified. “No more breaking in for you.”

She wanted to tease him about how that only happened _one time_ , but she was too happy as she enveloped him in a hug.


End file.
